On The Banks of Grimes Creek

The sun was bright on that hot day in late August. The cicadas were buzzing loudly as the crickets chirped in chorus. It was uncomfortably warm without a cloud in the sky. The worries and cares of the life waiting for us back home started to melt away in the heat.

The long path to the creek laid before us was carved out of the tall grass and brush at the edge of the woods. We walked in silence down the path, still struggling to reconnect away from the chaos of life. As the trail narrowed and widened, then narrowed and widened again, we took turns taking the lead. That is how it was is in our relationship too-one of us leading when the other can't until situations reverse the roles.

Ahead of us, there was a break in the brush, and beyond that, forest. As we came closer to the break, a footbridge came into view. Its weathered and sun-bleached wood seemed to shine like metal in the overbearing sunlight. We reached the edge of the woods, and it seemed like a doorway to a secret place. We stood on the bridge crossing Grimes Creek and watched the water slowly meander under us. When we crossed to the other side, the path opened up into a large clearing and gently sloped towards the bottom of the rocky creek. The tall grass and brush we just walked a path through hid the creek from view until you crossed the bridge to the other side.

The shade of the mighty pines kept the area cool, and it was a relief to be protected from the sun beating down. There was a carpet of green, soft and lush, under our feet. The creek was bubbling and trickling through the rocky creek bed. The sun and the heat over the previous few days had dropped the water level. Wildflowers grew along the tree line, and butterflies fluttered about. The cares, stress, and business of life faded away. Words broke the silence as we talked about little things, like how low the creek was and if it harbored any fish. We played in the creek bed, flipping rocks to find crayfish and salamanders. We splashed each other in the cold water. We played like the boys we were in our childhood. We laughed at each other and how silly it was. We rested in the grass under the pine trees, laying next to each other to catch our breath. He reached over and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. We were happy, our souls at peace, if even just for a moment. We were in love.

It was as if nature reflected that very love, or at least it seemed that way. Rocks shaped like hearts seemed to stand out among the rest. I noticed one bush covered in green, heart-shaped leaves. It was magical. I was happy and felt that this moment needed to be remembered. I wanted to leave our mark on this place. I wanted to build an altar to celebrate every part of our love. So, I began looking for rocks to build my small monument.

I found the perfect rock to use as my base. It was flat, heavy, and the ideal foundation. Steady and solid. I stacked another rock and then another, all flat and decreasing in size. I gave them all a meaning—something each rock symbolized. I stacked a rock for the love we had for each other. I stacked a rock for how we stuck together and had each other when the world got cold and daunting. I stacked a rock for the physical love we shared, like when he kissed my forehead or when I nuzzled my face in the crook of his neck. I stacked a rock for the love we made, the kisses that took my breath away, and the way we held each other. I stacked rocks for the laughter and the joy in our lives. For the family we had built. I stacked rocks for the bad times too. For the times we didn't think we would make it through. For the lies, the betrayal, the hurt, and the anger. Then I stacked a rock for forgiveness and new beginnings. I continued stacking rocks for dreams realized and dreams unfulfilled. For the journey we had made and the road that still lies ahead. I stacked rocks until my alter reflected every part of our love. As I stacked the last rock, I smiled and gave thanks for the love that filled my life and for the man that the creator saw fit to bring into my life. As I climbed out of the creek bed, I took a look at the monument I had made.

As we left the creek and crossed the bridge to the other side, the sun started to play hide and seek behind the clouds rolling in. I looked toward the creek one last time and wondered how long our monument, my altar, would stand, already longing to go back to that place. We made our way back up the path, holding hands when side by side and taking turns leading like we always had.

That night, storms moved in. Rolling thunder echoed through the mountains surrounding us. Heavy rain created a steady beat on the tin roof. My thoughts were about the creek bed and my monument as I drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, we made the same journey, down the path to the creek. As we crossed the bridge, we saw the creek had swelled from all the rain running down the mountain. The turbulent water rushed fast under the bridge. I was sure that given the amount the creek rose, my monument washed away. We arrived at the spot where I built my altar. Standing firm, still reaching for the sky, my monument stood, water twirling and swirling around the base.

On the banks of Grimes Creek, just past the bridge to a secret place, there is a stack of rocks. A stack of rocks dedicated to a moment in time, when two men struggling to find their way, found each other again in the quiet of the creek.

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